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36
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Mort, now dressed, but still looking disheveled, walked out of the hotel to see the girl clad in a large helmet and sitting on a motorcycle, some strands of her long blonde hair peeking out of the bottom of the helmet.
Strange... He thought and reluctantly got onto the back of the motorcycle. He was barely on, when she took off speeding. Mort grabbed onto her for dear life.
As they rode down the roads, Mort was having trouble. The girl's helmet was so bulky. He didn't know where to put his head. With all the trouble Mort had on the motorcycle, they had finally arrived at the Fargas place.
Mort and the girl walked in silence up the driveway, with its carpet of dead leaves and avenue of crumbling statues. He eyed her, mystified, as she strode briskly along. With another look at the girl, who remained standing at the foot of the steps, Mort went up to the front door and yanked at the bellpull, producing the same muffled jangling sound as before.
"Don't bother. He isn't there," The girl said.
Mort turned around. "Oh, really. Then where is he?" He asked, sarcastically.
"Over there," the girl said, pointing in the direction of the fountain.
Mort stared at her suspiciously, then walked over to the fountain. He froze, upon seeing Fargas's corpse floating face up among the dead leaves and lily pads. "God Almighty," Mort muttered. He stared for a moment longer before going back to the girl, who was still standing outside the front door. Ignoring her, he tried the handle, but it was locked.
"You want to get inside?" The girl asked.
"I had thought about it, yes."
The girl backed down a few of the stairs and looked the wall over. Then, with unsuspected agility,
she climbed onto a drainpipe beside the door and up onto the balcony above it. One of the windows was broken. She reached inside, released the latch, and disappeared from view.
Mort waited, casting occasional glances at the ornamental fountain and its occupant. There was a rattle of the lock being opened like there had been the other day when Fargas had unlocked the door, and the girl opened the front door from the inside.
"You wait here," Mort ordered. He walked past her and entered the house. He traversed the empty rooms until he reached the room he had been in the other day. The room where Fargas kept his books. The books were lying scattered across the rug, but there was no sign of 'The Nine Gates'.
"Shit!" Mort swore. He looked around helplessly. Then he saw it: There was a fire in the fireplace, and lying open amongst the ashes, charred around the edges, was Fargas's 'Nine Gates'.
Mort ran over quickly, picked up the mutilated volume. He looked at it for a moment, sadly shaking his head, then he placed it in his book bag. He made his way out of the house.
"Well, did you find it?" The girl asked, seeing him emerge.
"You know? It's come to my attention that you know too god damn much. Why do you keep following me around? Who are you working for?" Mort demanded.
"You're wasting time asking all these questions. We'd better get out of here. There's a flight from Portugal to Paris at noon. We should just make it," The girl explained.
"What's with the 'we'?" Mort asked.
"There are two of us, aren't there?" The girl replied.